


Will You Lie?

by Creme_Fraiche



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dark Anakin Skywalker, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, M/M, Possessive Anakin Skywalker, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, That's Not How The Force Works, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Top Anakin Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24586495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creme_Fraiche/pseuds/Creme_Fraiche
Summary: "Anakin had always been fascinated by the way Obi-Wan reacted to things, from his stern lectures in reaction to Anakin’s childish remarks during training, to the way he would jump seemingly out of his skin when they watched scary movies late at night, to the way his body would lurch into a perfectly curved arch when he curled his fingers inside him, grazing his prostate knowingly. Every action leads to a reaction, every word ends with a sentence, and every lie will always lead to the truth. At least, it did with Obi-Wan.Anakin could lie through his back teeth."A telling of an unknown meeting between Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker prior to their clash on Mustafar, the meeting that Obi-Wan preferred not to talk about. After all, Anakin's secrets were safe now.Inspired by "Will You Lie?" by Carrie Manolakos and Ryah Nixon from the musical Lizzie.Sequel to "Will You Stay?"
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 163
Collections: Star Wars





	Will You Lie?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for choosing to read this abomination! This is my second time posting here, please feel free to leave constructive criticism in the bottom!

Obi-Wan moved through the corridors of the Jedi Temple at an ever quickening pace, his feet pummeling the carpets, his mind racing with fears and anxieties. He knew what he had seen, but he couldn’t  _ believe  _ what he had seen. 

_ Anakin murdering younglings? _

Something had to be missing, some security footage, it could be a decoy, it - 

Obi-Wan forced himself to stop in the middle of the hallway, slamming his fist into the wall as he hunched over. His stomach growled, his chest was tight, sweat formed heavily on his brow. Was he going to vomit? He couldn’t tell anymore. It was all too much, all  _ far  _ too much. He closed his eyes, reaching into the Force to find Anakin. He reached deeper, but he found nothing, and no one. There was no sign of Anakin. 

_ Anakin where are you? _

Taking a moment to breathe, Obi-Wan began walking again, the door to his quarters looming at the end of the long corridor. Every step he made, the door seemed to get further and further away, the hallway shrinking around him, his chest getting even tighter. 

_ Is this a panic attack? What would Qui-Gon do, what would Qui-Gon do… _

He threw himself against the wall, his back meeting the hard metal with a thud, his head spinning. That morning, everything had made sense. But now, nothing did. His best friend, the man he had trusted his deepest secrets to, who he had dedicated his  _ life  _ to… He felt as if he didn’t know him. He couldn’t understand  _ why  _ Anakin would commit such a heinous, horrific crime. He hadn’t always liked Anakin, for a long time while Qui-Gon had still been alive; he had even  _ resented  _ Anakin. But through training him as his own Padawan, he had grown to admire his tenacity, and over the years he had even grown to… 

Obi-Wan remembered the night after Qui-Gon’s funeral. He hadn’t slept. He had spent from dusk until dawn clinging to his master’s robes in his bed, a seemingly never ending stream of tears staining the rough-hewn linen of Qui-Gon’s robes. He had sworn that night that he would never love again, that he would never give his heart to another, so that it would always belong to Qui-Gon. 

However, this proved difficult as Anakin grew from a boy into a man. Obi-Wan had watched everything, from the way his shoulders squared out, to the way he walked with his legs apart so that there was room for his - 

_ No _ .  _ Stop it _ .  _ You can’t _ . 

And yet…  _ He must _ . 

The first time he had allowed Anakin to take him, he had been awkward, his movement jerked and sloppy. He didn’t have the rhythmic pulsing his Master had delivered into him, but his poor performance had been expected. He hadn’t lasted long, collapsing at Obi-Wan’s side in a sweaty heap, chest heaving. And though he had fallen asleep almost instantly, Obi-Wan lay awake the remainder of the night, mind reeling with questions.

The subsequent times that they had spent the night together, Anakin had made noticeable improvements every time, having taken pointers from many nights spent with Padme. Soon, Anakin was a stud. He would take Obi-Wan passionately, almost forcibly. It wasn’t what Obi-Wan had ever thought he needed, but it was what he  _ wanted _ , for every time Anakin fucked him into a climax, he swore that his young Padawan looked just like Qui-Gon. And that was enough.

What they did in the darkness knew nothing of love, but even in the lusty haze of sex, too many bottles of Dressellian beer and traces of Anakin’s juices splattered audaciously across his stomach; Obi-Wan felt slightly less alone in the universe.

Throwing open the door to his quarters, Obi-Wan removed his cloak and threw it across the room with a sudden reckless abandon, moving across the room and exiting onto the balcony, allowing the cold night air to fill his lungs like a nicotine hit. He felt his lungs expand as the fresh oxygen flooded his senses, the tight sensation from before lifting out through his shoulders. A knot of panic remained in his stomach, or was it nausea? Obi-Wan took long strides to the edge of the balcony, overseeing the bright and often obtrusive nightlife lights of the streets below. His hands grasped the cold metal railing firmly, his temples throbbing as he screwed his eyes shut, allowing himself to sink into the ambience of the night. A moment of calm, as Qui-Gon taught him, was a Jedi’s greatest asset. Remaining cautiously alert, without letting the anxieties from deep inside bubble up.    
  
Conversely, Anakin had always called this action a ‘stupid way to bottle up our feelings’. How reckless, Obi-Wan had scolded him, how reckless he was to believe that his feelings gave him strength. He hadn’t spoken again that day, and had rather spent the remainder of their training in one of his teenage angst moods. And there he was, breaking into his thoughts again. Anakin. Thoughtless, defiant,  _ beautiful  _ Anakin. The rose of his master’s affections, and no matter how many times he and Qui-Gon had achieved coitus, Anakin would have always been a rose. 

But would a rose by any other name smell just as sweet? Obi-Wan had read that line somewhere in the archives, Force knows he disagreed. A rose is a rose, nothing can or ever will compare to a rose, and he would always be second place to young Skywalker. 

Why,  _ why  _ could he not clear his mind? He would go so far into a peaceful centre, only to hurl himself back into a state of panic over what Anakin had done. He had to tell Padme, of course. Didn’t he? No, of course he did. 

... _ Right? _

You cannot protect him, Obi-Wan, focus. He must face the consequences of his actions. It will take the council years to seek out and discover new younglings, and all the while he will be rotting in the deepest, darkest corner of the galaxy, on a prison planet or tied up on a containment ship; and that’s if the council don’t have him executed. His mouth was dry, his grip on the railing beginning to slip from the clamminess of his palms. You can’t hold on forever. 

Warmth closed over his hands, a familiar scent of young blood and Nabooian cologne washing over him. A body pressed into his from behind, caging him against the railing.

“Aren’t you cold, Master,” Anakin whispered lowly in his ear, his breath hot against Obi-Wan’s skin, “What are you doing out here?”

The tension that had lingered in Obi-Wan’s stomach burst through his body, every muscle, every ligament freezing like stone. His chest was tight again. He felt as if he had been riding a fairground attraction for too long, a swirling sensation in his lower abdomen causing his head to spin. He couldn’t find the words to say to Anakin. Not now. 

“I have missed you, so very much,” Anakin dressed his master’s neck in tender kisses, watching as his fair, almost alabaster skin flushed and grew goosebumps at his touch. Anakin had always been fascinated by the way Obi-Wan reacted to things, from his stern lectures in reaction to Anakin’s childish remarks during training, to the way he would jump seemingly out of his skin when they watched scary movies late at night, to the way his body would lurch into a perfectly curved arch when he curled his fingers inside him, grazing his prostate knowingly. Every action led to a reaction, every word led to a sentence, much like every lie would always lead to the truth. At least, it would with Obi-Wan.

Anakin could lie through his back teeth. 

“Where have you been, Anakin,” Obi-Wan attempted to straighten his back, but Anakin’s chin planted firmly on his shoulder prevented him from even budging an inch, remaining almost bent at the hips into an angle beneath the other man, his once young and unafraid Apprentice. But Obi-Wan knew that now, it was his turn to be afraid. 

“You know me, Master, I’ve been travelling around,” Anakin rolled against his Master, his hands closed tightly over Obi-Wan’s, “Spreading the message of Jedi peace.”

Obi-Wan shuddered as he felt Anakin against him, and wanted nothing more than to believe him. He wanted this all to be a misunderstanding, for Anakin to kiss him and throw him on the bed, eliminating all doubt and worry from his mind with immeasurable waves of pure, unforgiving pleasure. 

“But, my Master, something is troubling you,” Anakin shifted back slightly, guiding Obi-Wan to turn to face him, who looked over him in a mist of confusion, “Talk to me, Master. Do you not see me before you? I am  _ here  _ for you.” 

Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered, his neck aching from even holding his head up to look at Anakin. He looked different, somehow stronger, bolder. Had he gotten taller? His neck was thicker, the shape of his shoulders broadening gave the impression that he was proud of something. Like he knew  _ exactly  _ what he had done. A smug aura emanated from his centre. Obi-Wan looked into Anakin’s eyes, questioning his intent.

“No, Anakin, I’m fine,” He said at last, raising a hand to his forehead, “These damned headaches are getting to me.” 

Anakin reached up, taking Obi-Wan’s hand in his own, placing a gentle kiss on the back of it, training his eyes on his Master. He smiled into the kiss, his posture softening slightly. Obi-Wan, however, remained tight, even as Anakin’s kiss caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. 

“Does Padme know you’ve returned?”

Anakin’s smile twisted quickly into a frown, as if the mention of his wife’s name stirred a deep malice in his heart. He lowered Obi-Wan’s hand, but did not let it go. His stare was burning a hole in Obi-Wan, piercing almost through him. Obi-Wan didn’t push the question any further, but nagging doubt, no,  _ screaming  _ doubt told him to get out of there and to find Padme, to tell her the horror he had seen. This man before him was not the Anakin Skywalker that she had married, and it was not the man that he had loved, no matter how much it hurt him to admit it.

He loved Anakin.

“Master, why must you bring her up? Are you not satisfied with me,” Anakin trailed a steady hand to Obi-Wan’s waist, the familiar feeling of bruised imprints on milky white flesh causing Obi-Wan’s breath to hitch into his throat, “Are you not happy to see me, Master?” 

Anakin’s voice was so tender, so soft, and it ripped away at Obi-Wan to think that his trepidation was hurting his Padawan, but he could not deny his fear in that moment. He flexed his hand in Anakin’s, pulling to release himself but to no avail. Anakin had a firm grip on his Master’s hand, his other hand tightening on Obi-Wan’s waist, almost as a warning. He brought the older man closer, pressing his lips delicately to Obi-Wan’s, his whole body weighing into his as he felt Obi-Wan exhaled heavily into the kiss from his nostrils, his free hand shooting back to support himself on the railing behind them. The kiss was otherwise entirely silent, the echoing traffic noise and distant thumps of drum and bass from the clubs and bars below providing a subtle, urban ambiance. The kiss was heavy, passionate and even though it soothed Obi-Wan’s body and spirit, it would not and  _ could not  _ calm his mind. 

He broke the kiss with his Padawan, the look of confusion on Anakin’s face like a dagger to his chest. Obi-Wan had always struggled to say no to Anakin, even when he needed to. 

“Anakin, please,” Obi-Wan spoke at last, “People are asking questions, questions that I do not know the answers to.”

Anakin leaned back into his strong, proud posture. He looked down at his Master, watching as he scrambled through the sentences. He smiled. 

“Master, what questions are they asking?”

Obi-Wan felt the knot in his stomach rising, rising further and further until it stuck in his throat, his skin was hot, his robes heavy, weighing him down. He wanted to sink into the floor, fall through the planet’s crust and never reemerge. He wanted more than  _ anything  _ for this conversation to be over.

“Somebody entered the Jedi Temple, and committed a horrific crime, Anakin. Somebody has murdered the younglings, and-”   
  
Anakin placed a finger against Obi-Wan’s lips, silencing him, his expression solemn but still somehow, the smile remained.   
“Master… Surely you don’t think that I committed an act of such treasonous measure?”

Silence. The subconscious staring contest between them continued, eyes trained perfectly on the other. Obi-Wan wanted to believe him. He needed to believe him. 

“Anakin,” He tried, grasping at his Padawan’s wrist and slowly lowering his hand,    
“There are concerns from the council.”   
  
“But, Master,” Anakin cut him off again, his hand splayed softly on his Master’s chest, “You don’t think that I did this, do you? Because, you know where I was,” He continued, that sickening smile never leaving his lips, “You know that I am innocent.”

Obi-Wan’s heartbeat doubled, panic firmly settling into every nerve in his body, every fibre of his being begging him to run, to escape. Fight or flight was triggered, and flight was his only way out. He couldn’t fight Anakin, not here. Not now. He went to move from under his Padawan, but Anakin stopped him, boxing him in against the balcony’s edge. He cocked his head to the side slightly, his smile beginning to crack.    
  
“Master, you know that I am innocent,” He repeated, “You will defend me, yes?”

Anakin held Obi-Wan ever tighter, as if trying to squeeze and answer out of him. He had always had an unbreakable faith in his Master, and even if he knew the truth, he would never hurt him. He knew that he was asking him to lie for him, but Obi-Wan would do anything for Anakin. 

But Obi-Wan couldn’t lie. He threw his free hand up to Anakin’s chest, pushing him back with surprising strength, breaking the contact so that he could stand straight, looking at his Padawan. Tears brimmed his eyes, seconds from spilling over. 

“Stop this, Anakin,” He pleaded, feeling his aggression crumble as quickly as it had bloomed, “Stop with these lies.” 

Obi-Wan pushed his way by Anakin, back into the living area of their quarters, raising his arm to his eyes to dry his tears with the sleeve of his robe. His breathing was shaky, turning to look back out the door to Anakin, who hadn’t moved from where he had caught himself, after Obi-Wan had pushed him. He was silhouetted by the lights of Coruscant, but his eyes shone through, menacingly. He moved into the room slowly, approaching his Master with his hands raised in mock surrender,

“Master, listen to yourself, please.” Anakin tried, reaching Obi-Wan’s side and taking his hand, “Close your eyes, and see for yourself, I had no hand in the slaughter of those innocent younglings.”

Obi-Wan relaxed as Anakin took his hand, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He let the air sit in his lungs for a moment, allowing his body to tighten, settling his core in the Force. With a heavy exhale, he looked to Anakin again, 

“I need to know the truth, Anakin,” His tone was heavier than before, now on a level playing field, “Tell me the truth.”   
  
The sudden shift in his Master caused Anakin to tense, his guard rising. He squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand, lifting it to his chest,

“The truth, Master?” He slid Obi-Wan’s hand under his robe, grazing the battle-worn flesh of his chest, his heartbeat pulsing against his hand, “I want to know the truth.”

There was no way of getting Anakin to admit what he had done. He was gone, and Obi-Wan had to accept that. He had to get to Padme, he had to warn her about the monster her husband had become. He pulled his hand from Anakin’s, sinking back yet further away from him, shaking his head.

The truth was, he was frightened of Anakin. He loved him, but he scared him. He didn’t know  _ how  _ to love him, or how to handle him in the situation they were in. 

Anakin was a rose; and roses have thorns. Obi-Wan had found this out the hard way, and knew he no longer wanted to feel his thorns against him. He turned to leave, but was stopped by hands gripping the back of his tunic, hauling him into a tight embrace. Anakin buried his nose in Obi-Wan’s hair, inhaling deeply. 

“Won’t you lie for me, Master?” Anakin asked gently, his grip around the older man not loosening, not even for a second, “Will you lie, here for me?”

Obi-Wan found himself being thrown against the nearby sofa, barely catching himself as the hard section across the back of it caught him in his abdomen, winding him. Before he could even consider a reaction, he felt Anakin on top of him, closing a hand around his mouth. Obi-Wan struggled, yelling expletives into the palm that caved over his lips. He writhed in Anakin’s grip, but he could not escape. His belt fell from his robes, and his lower body was soon exposed as Anakin pulled down his undergarments. Obi-Wan struggled harder, eyes wide with panic and fear. His yelling had become screaming, muffled pleas for Anakin to stop falling on deaf ears. 

Anakin looked over Obi-Wan’s exposed ass hungrily, holding his Master in place through his power in the Force, spitting on his free hand to slick up his fingers, before forcefully inserting two digits into the older man, feeling him tighten in an attempt to reject his unauthorised entry. Obi-Wan continued to beg, his lower body becoming weak as he felt the violation. His throat hurt, but he couldn’t stop. 

_ Please, Anakin. Please. _

Anakin was not gentle with his hands, prising Obi-Wan open like he was dessert on a platter, ready for the taking, ready to be claimed. He caught his Master’s sorrowful eyes as he looked him over, examining him. He smiled that sick smile, matching Obi-Wan’s stare perfectly as he unbelted his own tunic, allowing his proudly erect cock to burst forth. He continued to finger his Master, reaching out through the Force to stimulate him, massaging his nerves and loosening his muscles, forcing him to relax. 

But Obi-Wan did not feel relaxed. His body was going limp, falling heavily into the couch. Tears streamed from his eyes as he found his voice leaving him, unable to beg anymore. He felt himself giving up, giving  _ himself  _ up for Anakin, much like he had all those times before. It hurt, it hurt his pride, and it hurt his heart. He loved Anakin so much, he wanted to give him everything, anything; but not like this. Never like this. He felt Anakin remove his hand from his silenced lips, the only thing escaping him now hoarse and empty sobs as he was mercilessly penetrated. His body shook as Anakin pulled his fingers out, replacing them quickly with his cock, forcing himself inside his Master without any remorse. He pounded into him, again, and again, and again, grunting as he continued to have his evil way with him. Obi-Wan lay there, taking it, every ounce of pride and self-respect he had draining from his body, each thrust driving a nail of dishonour into his heart. Anakin wrapped his arms around his Master from behind, leaning over him to bury his face into his neck, his breathing hot and heavy, whispering sweet nothings into Obi-Wan’s ear.

_ You know I didn’t want to do this, Obi-Wan. I just want to take the pain away, Obi-Wan. You made me do it, Obi-Wan. I love you, Obi-Wan. _

  
  


He began to thrust deeper, his grapple around the man tightening, his words becoming lost in a muddle of grunts and moans, like he was a teenager again, taking Obi-Wan for the first time. Obi-Wan felt the heat rising in Anakin, but he didn’t react. He jolted with every thrust, it was the only reaction he could muster after being degraded like this, his throat dry from the empty pleas of mercy. Anakin sank his teeth suddenly into Obi-Wan’s shoulder, sharply and animalistically, crying out in pleasure against the linen. Obi-Wan felt the bite rip through a layer of skin, maybe more, as a deep, crimson stain began to blossom on his shoulder. It hurt, everything hurt. 

Anakin’s thrusts became disjointed, his hands clawing at Obi-Wan’s tunic for skin-on-skin contact, desperate for the feeling of his Master’s skin, all too ahead of himself as he gave a final, deep, assault into Obi-Wan, unloading his seed inside. It seemed to last forever, Obi-Wan’s spine curling as he felt an overflow leaking down his thigh. Anakin had been gone for quite a while, after all. Young men get quite pent up. 

There was a moment, for just a second, where Obi-Wan could feel someone holding his hand. A calming warmth, squeezing, assuring him that everything was going to be okay. No matter how not-okay things felt, and no matter how certain Obi-Wan was that he would never be okay again, he felt it. He felt his Master, holding him. 

Anakin hadn’t moved, but his grip had slacked, and the weight he was driving down onto Obi-Wan through the Force had been alleviated. His now softened length slid out of Obi-Wan’s ruined hole, tainted with his Sith seed, never to be whole again. He rose to his feet, staggering slightly as the haze of sex lingered in his frontal lobe, blurring his vision briefly through his comedown. He fixed his clothing, backing up as realisation set in about what he had done. He had felt a disturbing sense of pride about his acts in the Jedi Temple, murdering the younglings, but as he looked over his ravished Master, he felt a deep sadness, a guilt that choked him, forcing him to leave as fast as his legs would carry him. He’d never tell Obi-Wan how he cried on his way back to Mustafar, how he wanted to throw himself on his Lightsaber for what he’d done. But he had accepted his fate, and his brutal deflowering of his beloved Master was the final step to the Dark Side.

_ But, my secret is safe now. _

Obi-Wan stared out into the night, and though his senses had returned to him, he didn’t want to move. He couldn’t move, because he knew that when he did, he had to find Padme. He knew that he had to tell her what he saw. 

_ I saw you, Anakin. _

* * *

Maybe someday, they'd walk in the open. They'd be free to love, and they'd be together forever, and none of this would ever matter.

His secret was safe, now.

But somehow, through a faint whisper in the Force, he knew that the next time he saw Anakin would be the last time, for a very, very long time. 

And it hurt.

  
  



End file.
